


Purify Me

by justdk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Shower Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 18:15:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16665784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justdk/pseuds/justdk
Summary: Dean needs Castiel to help him forget Michael (Set during Season 14, Episode 3)





	Purify Me

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Season 14, Episode 3 so… spoilers (fyi I haven’t watched past this episode!). I’m a huge sap so watch out for them feels

_I’m gonna go take a shower_ isn’t the most graceful way of getting out of a painful reunion but Dean’s never claimed to be graceful. Sam knows better than to push and Cas… Dean yanks off his shirt and throws it into the corner. If he had to look at Cas for another second, watch his soft eyes get all teary, hear his voice go rough with everything he couldn’t say in front of the others – Dean couldn’t stand it.

Every inch of Dean’s skin feels like it’s crawling. He wasn’t lying about the shower. He’s been craving it ever since Michael vacated his body. If only there was a way to get rid of the sick, lingering feeling of possession, a feeling that burrowed _inwards_ and took root. He would chug a gallon of holy water if that would help but that sort of thing did jack shit when possession was committed by a fucking archangel. Especially when he gave Michael his permission. _Fuck._

Dean stares at his reflection, trying to remember his own face, trying to forget the way Michael had worn his image. _This is me_ he thinks as he touches his face. But the contact feels unreal. He’s still a ghost in his skin, still _drowning_.

A knock on the door interrupts his spiraling thoughts and a flicker of annoyance battles his feeling of relief.

“I’m fine!” Dean shouts. “Give a man some space, Sammie.”

More knocking and then Castiel’s low voice, “It’s not Sam.”

Dean’s heart kicks hard in his chest with how much he wants to open the door and let Cas in. His hands tremble as he walks to the door, each step heavy with second-guessing. He wants this too much. He doesn’t deserve to see Cas, to feel any comfort. Not after everything he did.

His hand is on the doorknob, his palm slick with sweat. His heart is pounding, from nerves, from longing, from muscle memory.

“Dean.”

_Fuck._

No one says his name like Cas does. No one can make him ache with just one word.

He opens the door and finds himself face to face with Cas. He can’t look away. He wants to reach out and touch the dark circles under Castiel’s eyes, trace the lines etched by worry and laughter, rub his thumb over his soft lips and memorize every bit of him all over again. But he doesn’t.

“H-hey.” His voice catches and he clears his throat, gripping the doorframe to keep his needy hands to himself. “What’s up? Did you need something?” _God he sounds pissy_.

“You said you were taking a shower,” Cas says, his voice even, giving nothing away. “I thought you could use a hand.” Not even a hint of a smile on Castiel’s poker face.

“Uh…” Dean blinks rapidly, the back of his neck growing hot. And just like that his uncertainty and self-loathing is swept away, eclipsed by desire. He tries to recover with a jaunty tilt of his head and a light-hearted, “If you’re offering…”

“Yes.” Castiel grabs Dean’s wrist and tugs, pulling him off balance and hauling him towards the bathroom. Dean bites his lip to hold in his surprised gasp, his feet tripping as he follows Cas. He was worried, on some level, that Castiel would tiptoe around him like Sam had been doing, that Cas would treat him like he was fragile. Clearly not. It’s such a fucking relief that tears sting his eyes and his knees go weak.

The bunker seems to be teeming with people, all these hunters from another world, so Dean isn’t surprised to find some of the showers already in use. Apparently the Men of Letters weren’t the shy types, opting for the gym style communal showers instead of stalls or – God forbid – en suite showers.

“Get out,” Cas growls, startling the two hunters. One man is covered in suds but one look at the angel’s face and he’s grabbing his towel and retreating. The other hunter sighs dramatically and mutters, “This had better not become a thing.” Cas ignores them both and Dean is too overwhelmed to process their reactions or feel embarrassed.

Castiel locks the door, the sound echoing in the now silent room. Dean shifts awkwardly, his hands tugging at the hem of his white T-shirt like he’s some shy kid.

“You’re nervous.” Castiel brushes Dean’s hands away and rests his hands on Dean’s hips. The thing about Cas that’s both hot and mortifying is the blunt way he speaks, cutting straight through the bullshit and going to the heart.

“Well, yeah.” Dean fidgets, running his hands through his hair, not missing the way Cas’s gaze wanders from his face to his biceps. “I mean, I’ve had Michael in me all this time and—”

Before he can finish his thought Castiel’s hand is clamped over his mouth and he’s shoved back, hitting the tile wall with a dull _thud_ , Cas’s body pressed against his, pinning him. Dean had thought his heart couldn’t beat any harder but right now it feels like it’s trying to punch out of his chest. The glint in Cas’s normally placid eyes has Dean throbbing. Nervous? Hell fucking no, not anymore.

“ _Don’t_.” Castiel’s voice is a harsh whisper in his ear, sending chills rushing over his heated skin. “Don’t talk about _him_ right now.”

Dean shudders and nods against Castiel’s palm. He doesn’t want to talk about it either. As the King once said, _a little less conversation, a little more action_.

It’s a bit of a mad scramble after that: Castiel pulling off Dean’s shirt – pausing briefly over the mysterious scar on his arm – and yanking down his pants. Dean wrestles Cas out of his trench coat and tugs playfully on his tie – oh, the things he wants to do with that tie, later – before taking it off. He’s sidetracked from undressing him when Cas again shoves him against the wall, this time to kiss him.

The tile is cold against Dean’s bare back but he doesn’t mind, not when Cas is so warm. Dean digs his fingers into Cas’s shirt, holding him as tight as he can. The brush of Castiel’s clothes over his skin makes Dean groan into the kiss. He tries to get a leg up and wrapped around Castiel’s hips, but Cas pushes his leg down. He bites Dean’s lower lip, drawing blood.

“Ah!” Dean gasps, tasting blood in his mouth. Cas flicks his tongue over the small tear, his deep blue eyes burning and intense. Dean gulps, his throat suddenly dry. He wants to say _do that again_ and _mark me all over_. That’s what he really wants: bite marks and bruises and scratches, a patchwork of evidence that he’s not Michael’s – he’s Castiel’s.

Dean pulls hard on Cas’s shirt, hard enough that the buttons pop free and the shirt rips open. Castiel grins in a way that can only be described as _wicked_. He shrugs off the remains of his shirt and lets Dean unfasten his belt and work his trousers off. Dean wants to fall to his knees, hard tile be damned, needs to have Castiel filling his mouth, his throat, washing away that nagging parched feeling.

But Castiel has other plans. He takes Dean by the wrist again and leads him to the showers. The floor is wet and slick; Dean slips a little and Cas catches him, holding him close. Castiel turns on the faucet and a spray of hot water drums down over Dean’s head and along his shoulders.

“I said I would give you a hand,” Cas reminds him. He holds up a bar of soap and smiles crookedly. He’s close enough that the water hits him, too, beads on his face and soaks his hair. Dean knows that he’s hopelessly, completely fallen for Castiel because why else would the sight of him – naked and wet – make him both ridiculously hard and on the verge of tears.

“You did,” Dean agrees. His voice is so hoarse it’s nearly unintelligible. Water drips into his eyes and he closes them and leans forward, lips parted, hungry for another kiss. Castiel draws him in and kisses him deeply, his fingers pushing into Dean’s hair, pulling sharply. Suds seep down Dean’s face and into his mouth— “Dude!” Dean splutters, wiping at his face. “Are you using _soap_ in my hair?!”

Cas blinks slowly, looking from the bar of soap to Dean’s hair. “Yes?”

“That’s not a hair product,” Dean grumbles and scrubs at his scalp. “Clearly you haven’t watched Queer Eye.”

Cas squints at him and tries to make the connection.

“Nevermind. We can watch it later.” Dean thinks Sam should watch it, too. Maybe then he would get rid of his stupid beard.

“Are you done?” Cas sounds exasperated, impatient. _Good._

“So done.” Done waiting, done talking, done thinking.

When Castiel touches him, Dean trembles. It’s just—when did he last have someone touch _him_? And Cas isn’t just someone. He’s Cas. He’s everything. The ally angel who saved him, became his friend and partner, became so much more. Castiel’s hands pass over him, slippery with soap. He rubs and kneads at Dean’s skin, part cleansing, part massage. It’s both therapeutic and erotic.

Dean groans as Cas works his fingers into the tense muscles of his lower back. He wants those fingers to keep going, to move farther down. Forget the rest of the bathing; he needs Cas’s fingers in his ass, working him open. He moves his hands from where they’ve been holding onto Castiel’s shoulders and reaches behind himself, guiding Castiel’s hands until they cup his ass. Cas squeezes, gently at first, and Dean rocks forward, his cock rubbing against Castiel’s.

Cas’s eyes darken and he makes a needy sound that goes straight to Dean’s already aching cock. Dean grinds against him more urgently, savoring the way Cas’s breath hitches and his grip tightens; there’s a good chance he’ll leave bruises and Dean is more than okay with that.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean pleads. He wraps his arms around Castiel’s back, their chests sliding together, the full body contact sending his pleasure levels through the roof.

Cas mouths at his neck, sucking hard as he _finally_ presses the tip of his finger against Dean’s entrance.

Dean’s almost too keyed up to relax but he does, breathing deep and smashing his forehead against Castiel’s shoulder. Cas slides his finger in, moving slow and gentle. It’s good but not enough, not even close. Dean whines quietly, fingernails scraping down Cas’s back. He thinks of Castiel’s magnificent wings, then flinches away from the memory of _his_ wings sprouting from his back.

“Dean?” Cas stills, one hand cupping the back of Dean’s head.

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t sound fine, he sounds wrecked. Dean swallows and tries again. “Bad memory. Keep going… please, Cas, I _need_ this.”

There’s a heavy pause before Castiel whispers, “Very well.” He kisses Dean’s forehead and cheek, sucks lightly on his jaw until Dean gasps. He adds a second finger, stroking inside Dean with loving precision.

“Ah fuck!” It feels irreverent to scream _oh my God_ , especially after he’s met Chuck, besides there’s only one being he wants to call on, now or ever. “ _Cas_!”

“Yes, Dean.” Damn him, he sounds way too smug.

“M-more. Gimme more, Cas.” He’s panting now. His body is singing with sensation: Castiel’s fingers thrusting inside him, the insistent grind of their cocks, the hot slide of skin against skin, soft kisses, the sound of their ragged breaths, and the constant hiss and patter of water. Even the light, floral scent of soap is overwhelming. It feels like his entire being is played in a symphony of pleasure.

“Patience,” Castiel murmurs. He doesn’t say _I don’t want to hurt you_ but Dean knows. The biting and the bruising Cas knows he can take, knows that he likes it. When it comes to this part – to preparing him – Castiel is never anything but gentle. Hell, if Cas had his way it would his tongue furling inside Dean’s hole, which is all well and good but right now Dean is too impatient, burning for more.

Three fingers in and Dean is _extremely_ over patience.

“Enough, Cas, I’m ready.” In truth his legs feel too wobbly to stand and he’s leaning hard against Castiel. “Please, Cas, make me forget him. Make me—”

Castiel’s fingers twist in his hair, jerking Dean’s head back. Dean feels foggy with pleasure but one look at Cas’s expression snaps him out of the hazy lull. It’s not that he ever forgets that Castiel is an angel but sometimes he forgets the glory and the fury that is unique to divine beings. Right now Castiel looks more than capable of smiting something. Heh, smiting. Dean licks his lips, drawing Cas’s attention.

Their kiss is hungry, all electric shocks and deep groans. Castiel works his fingers inside Dean, thrusting harder and faster, until Dean’s sure he’s going to come.

“Yes,” he moans, lips on Castiel’s ear, trembling hands holding on for dear life. “Purify me, Castiel. Make me yours.”

Castiel jerks against him, reacting to Dean’s words. He pulls his fingers from Dean’s ass so swiftly that Dean cries out, his impending release stalling as he clenches around nothing. Before he can whine about it Cas spins him around, pressing Dean’s chest to the tile wall, tugging at Dean’s hips and guiding his legs apart. The first brush of Castiel’s cock against his ass has Dean groaning.

Castiel enters him in one long, steady push that leaves Dean breathless, clawing at the smooth wall. He feels deliciously full with Cas deep inside him; his hips snug against Dean’s ass. He wants Cas to move, to start fucking him until he can’t think anymore, until he can’t string two words together.

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice is rough and low. He sounds like he’s teetering on the edge of control. His fingers flex, holding onto Dean’s hips so tight that it hurts.

“ _Yes_.” Dean braces his hand against the wall and pushes back against Cas, doing whatever he can to take Castiel deeper. His body shudders and _God_ this is all he wants. Cas’s sharp inhale clues him in that maybe he said that last bit out loud.

Castiel _finally_ moves, pulling out oh so slowly only to thrust in hard, the force of it making Dean gasp for air. Cas repeats the motion again and again, gradually speeding up.

Dean is aware that he’s being loud, that the noises he’s making are beyond porno level lewd, but he can’t help it. Castiel’s fucking him like he’s got something to prove, going hard and fast and so deep that Dean is rocked forward with every thrust. His cock slaps against his stomach, painfully hard and leaking.

“Cas,” Dean’s voice is slurred and his throat is aching. He’s a bundle of need and Cas is giving him his best and yet… “Cas, touch me. I need you… your hands. Babe, please, Cas.” His voice breaks on Castiel’s name as another surge of bliss wracks his body.

“Shhh.” Cas shushes him, gentling his pace and reaching around to stroke Dean. It feels so good, so welcome, that Dean comes undone in a matter of moments. His body shudders, clenching up around Castiel, making him swear loudly and bury his face against Dean’s back.

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel growls, his words interrupted by heavy breathing, “the only angel that gets to be inside you is _me_.” The hot possessiveness in his tone makes Dean’s spent cock twitch with interest, makes his heart trip because _yes, fuck yes._

“ _Yes_ , only you,” Dean swears. He braces himself against the wall with one arm and shakily reaches back for Cas. Their fingers slide together. Castiel guides their joined hands to wall, propping them up as his momentum slows, hips jerking. He comes with Dean’s name on his lips, soft and reverent as a prayer.

Warmth fills Dean, spilling over when Castiel pulls out. He nearly crumples to the tile floor but Cas catches him and they both slide down the wall. Dean lies on his side, his head resting on Castiel’s thighs. The water falls over them, gently washing them clean.

Dean closes his eyes, his body satisfied and spent. Castiel strokes his back and Dean’s vaguely aware that Cas is saying something but the words get lost in the sudden, overpowering need to sleep.

—–

Dean wakes up in his bed. For a few groggy moments he doesn’t remember Michael. For a few blissful moments he’s only aware of warmth, the feeling of Cas pressed up behind him, and the soft familiarity of his bed. He stretches slowly, carefully; he’s a little sore but it’s not bad. He looks over his shoulder at Cas and that’s when he sees the scar on his arm. There wasn’t time yesterday to examine it, to wonder about it. He pokes it but there’s no feeling and no memories attached to it.

Castiel stirs and wraps an arm around Dean’s waist and nuzzles at the back of his neck. He wasn’t asleep but Dean appreciates the pretense.

“How are you feeling?” Cas asks, hooking his chin over Dean’s shoulder. His jaw is rough with stubble and Dean rubs his cheek against him before kissing the corner of Castiel’s mouth.

“I feel like _someone_ blew my back out.” He twists around so that he and Cas are facing each other and groans quietly at the way his body seems to creak and twinge with aches, not all of them from Castiel’s thorough lovemaking.

Cas laughs softly and kisses Dean’s lips. “Lucky for you _someone_ has just the thing for bad backs.” Castiel leans over and grabs a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water from the bedside table and hands them over.

“No angelic healing? You must want me to suffer all day, Cas,” Dean teases and shakes several pills into his palm.

“Maybe I do.” Castiel grins and waits until Dean has drunk all of the water before pulling Dean into his arms. “Maybe I want you thinking about me every time you have to bend over or sit down or—”

“Alright, alright.” Dean laughs, covering Cas’s mouth with his palm. “That’s enough. I already think about you plenty, you sadist.”

Castiel pretends to look offended but he knows Dean doesn’t really mean it. “Tell me the truth, Dean,” Cas says once Dean removes his hand. “Are you alright?”

Dean sighs and leans back on the pillows. Instead of answering he plucks at Castiel’s shirt. It’s one of Dean’s ancient Led Zeppelin shirts, worn and full of holes, but the band name and the angel on the front are still legible. He digs a finger into one of the holes and flicks Cas’s nipple.

“Dean…” Cas shifts forward and Dean’s gaze wanders down to take in the way his borrowed sweats stretch over Castiel’s hips and thighs, leaving little to his active imagination.

“Can we talk about it later?” Dean asks, eyes still fixed on Castiel’s crotch. “I’ve been wanting to suck you off since the moment I saw you last night.” He places his hand on Cas’s hip and slides two fingers into the taut waistband. Cas’s skin is so hot and touching him, even this little bit, makes Dean eager for more contact. “C’mon, Cas,” Dean say quietly, “who knows when we’ll get another chance? You know how it is, we step out this door and Sam will have a new crisis for us to solve and we’ll go and we’ll hunt and work and the only time you and me will get to be alone will be rushed quickies in shitty places.” His fingers inch down and soon he’ll have his entire hand down Castiel’s sweatpants and then…

Cas places his hand over Dean’s and gently pulls Dean’s questing fingers away from their desired target. Dean sighs but tries not to pout. Castiel brings his fingers up to his mouth and kisses them, which is too fucking sweet.

“You know what else won’t happen once the world intrudes on us?” Castiel asks. “We won’t talk. Not about this. It’ll be the case, jokes, research, disaster management. You’ll keep everything inside until you crack and then you’ll lash out at me or Sam or one of the hunters and you’ll hate yourself for it.”

Dean squirms, wanting to hide from the truth but Castiel pulls him closer and rests his forehead against Dean’s. This close and he can see all the marks that life on earth has left on his angel. He can also see the deep love that Cas bears for him, and the deep worry, too. Dean closes his eyes and releases an unsteady breath.

“We don’t have forever, Dean,” Castiel reminds him. Maybe they’re thinking the same thing because Cas cups Dean’s face in his hands and rubs his thumbs over the worry lines that have formed at the corners of Dean’s eyes. “We’ve both had so many second chances, resurrections. And with each new life we keep making the same choices, the same mistakes.”

“I’ve done the best I could,” Dean interrupts, voice tense. “We all have. When it’s my life versus the survival of everyone else… what choice do you expect me to make, Cas? Huh? You do that same thing!”

“Shhhh.” Cas brushes his hand over Dean’s forehead and into his messy hair. “Yes, I know. _I know_. But we can do better this time. I just got you back, Dean. Do you understand? We had no way of saving you, of defeating Michael. We were at our wits end and then, miraculously, Michael left. He left you, his perfect vessel, and I don’t know why but we need to _talk about it_. And yes, we need to figure out what he’s doing but more than that, Dean, I want to know how you’re doing. How can I help you and keep you safe from him because I _never_ want to go through that again. Dean, I—” Castiel’s voice breaks and he blinks rapidly, trying to clear the tears from his eyes.

Dean chokes up, too, feeling overwhelmed by Castiel’s confession. He should say something to put Cas at ease but any easy answer would be a lie and the truth is more than he can handle at the moment. So he falls back on instinct and need and yes, his love for Castiel, and kisses him. Cas’s eyes widen in surprise but then they close and he’s kissing Dean back, his frustration and worry seeping into the kiss. Dean pushes Cas onto his back, pinning his hands and straddling his waist. Cas strains up to chase his mouth, face flushed, lips swollen. Dean’s heart lurches, overcome by how messy and perfect Castiel looks – his borrowed clothes disheveled, shirt rucked up over his stomach, his hair sticking up every which way.

“Dean…” The longing in Cas’s voice tugs at Dean, makes him want to swear that he’ll never sacrifice himself again, that he’ll never leave Castiel’s side.

“Cas…” Dean moves over Castiel, his lips kissing every bit of bare skin. “I promise,” he kisses Castiel’s throat, “to be honest with you.” Cas shudders beneath him, hips arching up to grind against Dean’s, making him gasp and swear. “I promise…” he bites Castiel’s earlobe, “that I’ll never let Michael back in.”

Cas whimpers, angling his face towards him. Dean kisses his mouth, desire working like a magic spell spreading through his entire body. “Castiel…” Dean’s voice is rough with wanting. “I’m yours. Let’s stay together this time, okay? No matter what.”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel breathes, his face awash in joy, “ _yes_.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first - and will probably be my only - Supernatural fic. I usually don't write smut so apologies if it's not very good!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @dkafterdark


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